Room # 3217 (Ivy) Poem by Thomas Case

I once had a nurse named Ivy, when I was at Mercy Hospital, D-Toxing.
She wasn't poison, and didn't wind and wrap around
my room, giving it that green garden and alive look.
There was never any doubt that I was surrounded by
four beige walls, and two locked doors at the end of
the torturous hall.

She was a short squat thing with big eyes, and
large plump thumbs; the name Ivy didn't fit her.
My daughter's middle name is Ivy. She is
breathtaking, and is all, pumpkin-pie colored hair.
She has the temperament of Autumn, just like her Mama.
It feels like a stomach virus to be apart from her.
She twists and tightens around my broken heart.
We sure picked out the right name for her.